by Regina Scott
The coach bumped over a curving road to the ominous structure and stopped at the main entrance. As Genevieve took Papa’s hand and stepped out, she looked up at the dark building.
“See the gargoyles on the parapets?” Papa pointed. “This is truly a well-preserved structure. I’m happy to see they didn’t make any additions to try to modernize it.”
“Mrs. Widtsoe said they’ve updated part of it, mostly inside,” Mama said. “They even have bathing rooms with shower baths.”
A bath sounded delightful after the dirt and grit of the road, but not as delightful as a reunion with Matilda.
As footmen shouldered the family’s trunks, Genevieve took her father’s free arm and mounted the steps. They’d no sooner been admitted into a cavernous great hall than a squeal of delight and a bundle of ruffles launched itself at Genevieve and hugged her until she let out a squeak herself.
“Oh, Jenny, you’re here at last! I have so much to tell you!” Matilda drew back enough to let Genevieve breathe. Though Matilda stood at average height, Genevieve barely reached her chin.
As if remembering her manners, Matilda smiled at Genevieve’s parents but continued bobbing as if her excitement refused to be contained. Her honey-colored curls echoed every bounce. “Welcome, Captain Marshall, Mrs. Marshall. We’re so happy you’re all here. I trust your journey was not too tiring?”
Before Mama and Papa got out more than a few words, Matilda said, “Good, good. Mrs. Pearce will see you settled.” She took both of Genevieve’s hands into hers, and Matilda’s words started tripping all over themselves in her excitement. “Oh, Jenny, I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“Why, whoever do you mean?” Genevieve opened her eyes in mock innocence.
Matilda gaped at her as if she thought Genevieve had taken leave of her senses. “The man of my dreams, the love of my life—Christian Amesbury!”
Genevieve smiled. “I know. I'm only quizzing you. Tell me all about him.”
“He and his father are attending the house party,” Matilda said. “Isn’t that wonderful? His father is the Earl of Tarrington, so it’s quite an honor that they’re coming, but of course that’s not why I adore him. Oh, Jenny, he’s handsome and stylish and polite, and even a bit mysterious, but I’m sure he’ll be more forthcoming here with so many opportunities to converse.” With her hands still entwined with Genevieve’s, Matilda started hopping up and down with more vigor.
Genevieve laughed weakly in the face of such a force of nature. “Well, I look forward to meeting him. I only hope he’s good enough for you, Mattie.”
“Wait until you meet him. Oh, just wait!”
“Good heavens, child, show some decorum,” came a voice from behind them. Mrs. Widtsoe approached, shaking her head, a resigned smile touching her lips. “Welcome, Captain and Mrs. Marshall, Miss Marshall.”
Admiral Widtsoe arrived from another direction, greeting her father heartily and bowing to Genevieve and her mother.
Mrs. Widtsoe asked, “Would you like refreshment first or to rest in your rooms?”
“Tea would be lovely,” Mama said. “I do believe I ought to rest soon thereafter.”
Genevieve cast an anxious look at Mrs. Widtsoe. Catching her meaning, the perceptive lady suggested, “Shall I send a tea tray to your room so you can rest without delay?”
“Thank you,” Mama agreed.
Genevieve disentangled herself from her exuberant friend with a promise to return momentarily. After ensuring her mother got her tea and was resting, with her heart medicine within reach if needed, and good-naturedly enduring Mama’s calling her ‘little mother,’ Genevieve changed out of her carriage dress, freshened up, and followed a maid to the parlor. The longed-for bath would have to wait until after Genevieve enjoyed a coze with Matilda.
In the parlor decorated in shades of rose and pink, Matilda arose from a settee where she’d been perched and cast a glance at her mother, who sat near a window facing the front driveway. “We’re going for a walk, Mother.”
The lady nodded and gave them a loose wave. Matilda glided, with hardly any bouncing, to Genevieve and took her arm, tugging her outside. The moment they stepped through the French doors onto the terrace, Matilda’s flow of words began, as did her bouncing. With her blue eyes shining and her cheeks pink, she painted a lovely picture.
“Oh, Jenny, I have been waiting for this moment for ages! I just know you’re going to love Christian. I declare that I will do anything to secure a place in his heart. Wouldn’t it be perfect if he chose the house party to propose?”
Genevieve nodded. “Indeed it would.”
Matilda pressed a hand dramatically over her heart. “There has never been a more perfect man in all the earth. I am most violently in love with him!”
Genevieve couldn’t help tweaking her friend just a bit. “Weren’t you violently in love with the Duke of Suttenberg last year?”
Matilda waved away the past. “Oh, well, I admit I did admire him—he’s so handsome and, of course, comes from ancient lineage—but we hardly exchanged two words. It was more like admiration from afar than true love.”
“And this is true love?”
“Oh, yes! Christian is a bit reticent. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was shy. But that’s quite unheard of for such a handsome man of fashion, and an earl’s son besides. He’s merely thoughtful and doesn’t speak unless he has something important to say. Oh, and he’s so artistic! I asked him to paint my portrait while he was here, and do you know he agreed? He painted the loveliest portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire. It’s simply exquisite! He’s developing quite an impressive reputation as an artist of both landscape and portraits. I vow half of the fashionable houses in London are graced with one of his paintings.”
“Yes, I believe I saw a landscape of his.”
“I wish he had a twin so you could have one of him, too. He has brothers, but none of them are coming. The eldest, the viscount, is off visiting his aunt and uncle somewhere, and the next eldest is at sea—a captain, or a pirate if you believe rumor. And the next one is in London, but he seems to shun society. Oh, but Christian is so handsome. He and his father look a great deal alike, both tall and broad-shouldered and blond. Mama says he looks like Hercules, but I think of him as Adonis.”
Such a romantic description. “Your mother approves, I take it?”
“Oh, of course! And Father has already said he’ll give permission promptly and not tease Christian when he seeks him out. Can you imagine? Me? Married to such a handsome man, and the son of an earl. Why, all my friends will be so green with envy! All except you, of course. You’re a true friend, Jenny.”
Genevieve squeezed her hand. “I hope he makes you happy, Mattie. I truly do. So you are on a first-name basis with this Christian?”
“Well, not officially, but he is already Christian to me.”
Genevieve made a silent vow to give this paragon a careful study to be sure he wasn’t a roué who trifled with her friend’s heart. After all the losses and heartbreaks her dear friend had suffered, Genevieve would do anything to ensure Matilda’s happiness.
Matilda sighed. “I suppose we ought to go back. Mama wishes me to help her greet our guests. The guest list is quite impressive, I assure you. Oh, Jenny, I hope someone comes who is suitable for you. It would be lovely to have a double wedding!”
With a gentle smile, Genevieve said, “I hardly think a week-long house party is adequate time to fall in love with someone and decide to marry.”
Earnest blue eyes met hers. “Sometimes love happens instantly and you just know.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “It was that quick for me.”
Genevieve kept her doubts to herself. She sent up a silent prayer that if this so-called perfect Christian Amesbury weren’t good enough for Matilda, his flaws would become apparent before their relationship progressed farther.
They turned back to the house as more guests arrived. Carriages lined up, and servants scurried to help settle the arriv
als.
Matilda halted before they entered the great hall. She took both of Genevieve’s hands. “I’m so glad you’re here, Jenny. It’s been torture to be in such raptures without anyone to share it with who really understands and listens . . .”
Her words trailed off. Genevieve followed her gaze to a tall, distinguished man with silver streaks brushing his dark hair. He stood amid the chaos of boxes, trunks, and scurrying servants, surveying the scene with barely suppressed disdain. Sophisticated in his stylishly tailored riding clothes and lean form, he fingered his riding crop as if wishing he could control the servants the way he controlled his horse.
Matilda lowered her voice. “That’s Lord Wickburgh, a viscount and an acquaintance of my father’s.”
“He’s a very elegant gentleman.”
“Yes. Very.” For once, Matilda didn’t elaborate.
Lord Wickburgh’s gaze passed over the great hall. As his focus landed on Genevieve, he looked so hard at her that she turned her gaze downward. His stare contained a chill that settled into her backbone.
Admiral Widtsoe greeted the impressive lord, and soon the viscount ascended the staircase, presumably to his room. Others arrived, and Matilda greeted them with her mother. Genevieve hung back, so as not to be in the way, and offered assistance when possible.
In the midst of the arrivals came a very young man who didn’t appear to have reached his majority, with his brown hair in the youthful Cherubin style.
Mrs. Widtsoe clasped his hands. “So happy you are here, Sir Reginald. I hear you got your degree from Oxford?”
“Yes, indeed I have, ma’am. My mother sends her love.” He turned warm eyes onto Matilda. “Always a pleasure to see you, Mattie.”
Matilda grinned. “Good afternoon, Reggie. I suppose you feel all grown up now, eh?” All at once, Matilda let out a strangled sound of glee, clearly forgetting Sir Reginald. “He’s here!” Her urgent whisper drew Genevieve’s focus.
There stood a breathtakingly perfect young gentleman. Genevieve had frequented art museums, had seen many sculptures and paintings of mortal men and gods, some so beautiful she could almost fall into a swoon over them. Never in her life had she seen one come to life. Though she’d always had a preference for dark-haired men, probably influenced by her penchant for reading Gothics, this stunning perfection was a study in gold, from the gold of his glorious hair, to the golden tones of his sun-kissed skin, even the gold threads in his waistcoat. His dark blue riding coat brought out the summer-sky blue of his eyes that glanced about and then darted to a man who could only be his father—a thinner, older image of the blond vision. The young gentleman’s eyes narrowed in concern as he reached out to touch his father’s sleeve.
The older man waved him off and straightened his broad shoulders. A wan smile touched the older gentleman’s mouth as he greeted Admiral and Mrs. Widtsoe and Matilda.
Ashamed for staring, Genevieve cast an anxious glance at Matilda. Her friend gazed rapturously at the vision, her hands clasped to her bosom. The young gentleman glanced at her briefly before lowering his gaze, a half smile curving his full, shapely lips that conjured visions of stolen kisses underneath rose bowers.
Genevieve flushed. She was here to meet the gentleman of her friend’s dreams, not form dreams of her own. She squared her shoulders and vowed to discover whether his heart were as fair as his face and form, and if he were good enough for her friend.
Chapter Two
Christian Amesbury greeted the Widtsoes while keeping an eye on his father, the Earl of Tarrington. Leaving the healing waters of Bath and traveling to this house party might prove too taxing to the earl’s failing strength. However, this had been the first social event his father had expressed a desire to attend since Mama’s death, so Christian had encouraged their attendance. Besides fatigue, the earl seemed well enough at present, even showing a keener interest in his surroundings than he had in months. Perhaps the trip would boost his flagging spirits and revive his vitality in a way Bath had failed to do.
Furthermore, Christian had never visited this rugged terrain before, and his artist’s eye had already found new subject matter to paint. Not to mention, Admiral Widtsoe had commissioned him to do a painting of the abbey, and his lively daughter had requested a portrait of her. The trip might be good for his father and him.
Standing behind the hosts’ daughter stood a young lady who captured Christian’s attention. With a fascinating shade of auburn hair, the flawless skin of a doll, and exquisitely delicate features, beautiful seemed too tame a word to describe her. She fixed a pair of rich, brown eyes on him that seemed to peer into his heart. He looked away before he tainted her beauty with his darkness and studied the patterns on the floor.
The earl drew Christian into the conversation as he greeted his long-time friends. “You remember my son, Christian—my right-hand man.”
Christian offered a polite smile to the Widtsoes and their daughter, who beamed at him with unabashed adoration. Christian resisted the urge to tug at his collar. She was a pretty enough girl, but she watched him too closely, too hopefully. And she quivered a bit, rather like a poodle one of his mother’s friends used to carry about under her arm everywhere she went. Still, as the daughter of their hosts, Miss Widtsoe deserved courtesy. He’d just have to be careful not to raise her expectations.
“Of course we remember your son, my lord,” Admiral Widtsoe said. “Welcome, young Mr. Amesbury. We hope you will enjoy yourself here. I hope you don’t mind if I whisk your father away from time to time so we can catch up.”
Christian murmured a greeting and inclined his head in an abbreviated bow. He’d found bowing a good substitute for speech when he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Lord Tarrington, Mr. Amesbury,” the young Miss Widtsoe greeted them, although her eyes rested solely on Christian. Her smile revealed practically her entire set of pearly teeth. “I can’t wait to show you around! I’m sure you, as an artist, will find many views of interest to paint here! And it’s such a perfect time of year, too, with all the summer blooms!” Though she never raised her voice above normal speaking tones, her enthusiasm turned her statements into exclamations.
Christian bowed in greeting. His gaze strayed to the exquisite young lady behind Miss Widtsoe. His fingers twitched in desire to paint her, to capture that air of purity and serenity he seldom found in adults; normally only children had such undimmed light. A sense of timelessness crept over him. As if aware of his focus, she glanced his way again. Her brown eyes, ringed with an unusually thick fringe of lashes, searched his face as if looking for secrets best left hidden. Oddly unbalanced, Christian focused his gaze upon the admiral.
Miss Widtsoe spoke again, reaching behind her and drawing the auburn-haired beauty next to her. “Genevieve, this is the Earl of Tarrington and his son, Christian Amesbury. My lord, Mr. Amesbury, please allow me to introduce to you my dearest friend in all the world, Miss Genevieve Marshall.”
Genevieve. Jenn-a-veeve. Christian switched to the French pronunciation, Zhahn-vee-ev. A lovely name for a lovely girl. Of course, he could never call her by her given name. She must never be more than Miss Marshall to him.
As they exchanged their customary bows and curtsies, the earl asked, “Are you related to Captain Marshall, Miss Marshall?”
Surprise widened the auburn lady’s eyes. “He is my father, my lord.”
“A good man,” the earl said. “Is he here?”
“Yes, my lord. He and my mother are both in attendance. They are resting after our journey.”
“I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.”
“As are they, I am sure.”
Miss Widtsoe wrapped her arm around Miss Marshall’s and smiled so hard Christian wondered if it caused her pain. Miss Widtsoe stood almost a head taller than her fairy-like friend, and where her figure was full, Miss Marshall’s was lithe, graceful, as if she had been created to wear a pair of wings and flit among the flowers.
“I’ll show you
to your rooms,” the hostess said.
As they took their leave of the admiral, Miss Widtsoe curtsied. “I look forward to seeing you all at dinner tonight.”
Her sunny smile brought an answering one to his lips. It was hard not to be cheerful amid such liveliness. He bowed to all, his focus resting again on the beautiful Miss Marshall, and turned to follow the hostess.
After getting settled in his rooms and changing out of his traveling clothes, Christian checked on the earl. He found him reclining on a settee, sipping tea.
The earl gazed fondly at Christian. “Well, son, you have already conquered the ladies without speaking a word, I see.”
“Really, Father, we aren’t at war. No conquering involved.”
“This matchmaking business can feel like war of sorts. Take no prisoners, son.” The earl wagged his finger.
Christian scoffed. “I’m not here to make matches. Do you require anything?”
“If I do, I’ll ring for my valet. No need to fuss over me like a mother hen. I’ll rest for a while. Go amuse yourself. For once, speak to a young lady. Or, if you can’t think of anything to say, steal a kiss.”
The image of the sweet perfection of the auburn-haired Miss Marshall edged into Christian’s thoughts and heated his face. He nearly tugged on his collar.
The earl rested his head against the tall settee. “Admiral Widtsoe hopes you’ll choose his daughter.”
Christian cleared his throat. “Er . . .”
The earl’s mouth curved in a ghostly reminder of the ready smiles he once wore when Mama was still alive. “If you aren’t ready to settle down, you could sow some oats—not with a gently-bred lady of course—but here in a new place with new possibilities, there are all kinds of willing women—”
“Rest well, sir. I will see you at dinner—or at tea, if you are feeling well.” Christian made his escape before the earl could begin ribbing him about his shyness around women or spout stories of how generations of Amesburys deserved their reputations of philanderers and how his father wooed ladies of all classes and moral codes before he found and married Mama. His older brothers, Cole and Jared, seemed to share the earl’s views, but Christian never forgot his mother’s urging to treat all members of the fair sex with respect, whether a farmer’s daughter or a duchess. Besides, wooing would involve speaking. He’d rather face an opponent at fisticuffs or fencing than have to think of something clever to say to a lady.